


when loneliness becomes your lover

by regalremedy



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Beta Read, Panic Attacks, Read The TWs, someone teach me to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:34:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29627769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regalremedy/pseuds/regalremedy
Summary: And yet he was not alone. He had something most people tended to run away from. Loneliness. It was his best friend, his worst enemy, his soulmate, his nemesis, his lover, his everything. No matter how much he tried to push it away, he had loneliness. And somewhere between now and then, he had accepted it.He might not have Thomas the way he used to, he had something he knew would never leave him alone. But it wasn't equivalent to Thomas. It never would.Even when his heart rate became normal again, his mind only rang one name and he despised it:Thomas. Thomas. Thomas.OR5 times Alastair has a panic attack about Thomas plus 1 time it happened in front of Thomas.
Relationships: Alastair Carstairs & Cordelia Carstairs, Alastair Carstairs/Thomas Lightwood
Comments: 2
Kudos: 76





	when loneliness becomes your lover

**Author's Note:**

> [TW. Vomiting, Panic Attacks, Depression, Implied Self-Harm, Implied PTSD, Implied Gaslighting.]  
> Please leave a feedback for scope of improvement!

**ONE.**

_I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe._ It was the only thing Alastair could think of. He seriously did not know how he managed to make it to the carriage without breaking down in the middle. It felt like a miracle in itself. Of course, the humiliation he had faced with Lucie had made him even more upset. But he was determined not to let it get into his head and made his way out as soon as he could before his already humiliated self had to face even more insult. He would die before he would let that happen. He rested his head against the window and tried to breathe. His lungs were on fire. He just couldn't breathe. He knew he needed to stop and calm down.

He wasn't a stranger to this feeling. He knew it all too well. The first time it had happened, he had been 12 and he was sure he was going to die. It had happened after his father had shouted at him because he was drunk. His father never shouted when he was sober. He had crawled into his bed and covered himself in blankets, trying to stop the pain, trying to breathe, anything. It was Risa who had found him, gasping under the sheets, and had given him a large glass of water and rubbed his shoulders. Risa hadn't told anyone about the incident, which he had been terribly grateful for.

But his thoughts were racing, jumbling like all the pieces from a jigsaw puzzle were mixed together. He couldn't catch a single coherent thought except for what Thomas had said: But if you come near me or speak to me at any point after this, I will knock you into the Thames. But if you come near me or speak to me at any point after this, I will knock you into the Thames. But if you come near me or speak to me at any point after this, I will knock you into the Thames. But if you come near me or spea—

Alastair opened the door and vomited all over the pavement, his breaths coming in short intakes, black hair spilling over his forehead. He hadn't even eaten much the whole day and yet it felt as if he had overeaten and he was paying the price for it. Which wasn't true in any way. He was choking on thin air. And it just didn't make any sense. His hands shook terribly as he undid his tie and gulped in air. It did not help. In fact, it made it worse.

And angel, it hurt. Everything hurt. His vision darkened at the edges and he tightened his grip on the side of the carriage. He was not going to cry anymore because of a stupid conversation, a stupid statement, a stupid threat, and a stupidly handsome Lightwood. It shouldn't even bother Alastair. He was used to being hated on. It was not any different.

But he just could not erase the look of betrayal on Thomas' face when Matthew Fairchild had opened his bloody mouth and sprouted everything. He just couldn't imagine not having civil conversations with Thomas. And on top of everything he couldn't breathe.

He was going to die. Angel, he was going to die. It hit him like a dagger, right into his gut and the little breath he had was gone in a moment. He didn't want to die. Certainly not because of a petty fight. And so he pushed back his sweat soaked hair behind his ear with his still shaking hands and leaned back against the red cushions.

He was going to be fine.

He was going to breathe.

He was going to breathe, inhale, exhale.

He promised himself that he would not waste any more of his time for someone who hated him. He promised himself he wouldn't erase the little dignity he had. He did not know if he could live up to this promise.

**TWO.**

Alastair's day had not started well, he had woken up gasping for air and had blindly searched for anything but darkness. Then he had managed to shatter one of the expensive cups while drinking his tea. In his defense, his shaking hands were to be blamed. And to make it better, Risa had prepared porridge and scrambled eggs for breakfast. His appetite took a vacation as soon as he saw the meal. He knew she was trying to keep food as healthy as possible for Sona but the food had stuck in Alastair's throat.

He had resigned and just went to his room, wrapped himself in blankets and started reading. Usually, he read after his training but he knew he was going to get nowhere with those visions that had haunted him the night. So he took a deep breath and opened his copy of _Pride And Prejudice_ and tried to concentrate. As usual, his plan was made to be doomed. He let out his breath in frustration and rolled in his bed, staring straight at the ceiling. He just wanted to have to have a peaceful day. But the universe was out there to get him.

He couldn't help but wonder what Thomas must be doing. As soon as the thought passed his mind, he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his palms hard against his eyes.

He had promised himself. He considered actually trying to talk to Thomas then. Maybe try to explain himself. He turned towards his side and stared out of the window. It was raining heavily. It always rained in London anyways. The rain always reminded him of pain and hopelessness. It was as if the world had gone dark and the Angels were bestowing all their pain upon them. One of the reasons he did not like London.

So much misery, so much hate, so much pressure.

Alastair was used to these feelings. But that did not mean he enjoyed it. He hated feeling this way, hated feeling useless.

And once again, he was reminded of Thomas' oh so cruel words. He deserved them, he knew he did, after what monstrous things he had said, he deserved every ounce of hate sent his way. Then why did it hurt so much?

Alastair's breath hitched and his grip tightened on the sheets. He cursed under his breath, voice shaking. He would never get used to this.

He tried to take deep breaths, tried to focus on his surroundings and let go of his thoughts. He slowly opened his eyes, trying his best to loosen his closed fists around the sheets. His room swam in and out of focus and breathing got harder.

He closed his eyes again, he wanted this to stop. Angel, why did these things always happen to him? Why couldn't he just enjoy a normal afternoon?

Tears pricked in his eyes. If Elias would have been here, he would've told him to get a control. But the thing was, Alastair was tired. He just wanted this to end.

He wanted Thomas to be out of his head. He wanted Thomas to be his friend again. He wanted to feel alright again. He wanted—

He shakily sat up, head dizzy and breaths still very short. He reached his hands towards the jar of water on the stand and forced himself to drink water, he forced water down his throat, hoping it would help.

But the universe was still out to get him. Nausea churned in his stomach and he almost threw up. He leaned against his bed, shivering. Some days he wondered what the point of living was. This was one of those days. He let out a dry sob and let his hand go towards the dagger resting on the side table.

His hand brushed against the grip, ever so magnificent. He knew he shouldn't do it. But it just hurt so much. He wanted to escape, needed to escape. He couldn't breathe and his chest hurt, everything hurt. He felt himself giving into the achingly familiar temptation.

He found solace in darkness, and pain and hated it even more.

**THREE.**

Alastair was no stranger to overthinking. Some nights, like this one, he would find himself wandering the streets despite the harsh weather. The cold winds of London snapped at his hair, his hair has grown taller than Alastair liked. But he had no intentions of getting a haircut. He liked that he could do something with his own assent. His whole life was completely overruled by his father. He found himself appreciating little things. On any other day, this thought would have made him euphoric. He was making progress, wasn't he? The answer should be obvious yet Alastair felt dread. He cursed himself inwardly. He couldn't even have a simple walk without his problems intervening in the middle and making everything worse. He scoffed and turned around and intentionally took the long way home.

He let the cold wash over him, effectively tuning out his thoughts. Honestly, he thought it was a good way to keep his mind from things. But it did not last. No, his precious little bubble of hope always popped. Except this time it happened because of one of his favourite people in the world: Cordelia. Of course his sister did not do that on purpose.

When he had reached home, shrugging out of his coat and scarf, his sister ushered him to the table. His mother already sat there, with Risa laying out the dinner.

"You're just in time Alastair, joon." His mother said, her tired face giving him an equally tired smile. A pang went through his heart. Sona shouldn't be suffering this much. She has already gone through too much. She should be happy and well and resting now. This was what she deserved. But life was not fair. He learned this the hard way himself. So he settled on the chair and offered his mother a tight smile. 

Cordelia sat down beside him and smoothed her dress and said to Alastair, "My friends were here today. Lucie gave me her newest addition to _The Beautiful Cordelia_! I have been waiting to read it out to you!"

Her friends, Angel, did that mean Thomas was here? He shoved his shaking hands under the table. Did Thomas come to see him persay? Or was he relieved that Alastair wasn't home? Did Thomas ask for him? He barely felt the world tilt. The next thing he knew was that he had pushed his chair back.

"Is everything alright?" Sona asked, her voice tinged with so much concern, he was going to get sick.

Alastair's heavy breaths were not helping. He did not reply, he just bolted to the stairs, towards his room. He vaguely heard his mother and sister's concerned calls before he was inside his room, sliding down to his knees. Why was this happening again? He had thought he had control of these, whatever they were. But he had been wrong. Oh so wrong.

It was as if he was drowning, drowning in his mind and thoughts. It felt as if someone was pushing him down. His ears were ringing and it hurt. It made everything so difficult.

He heard the door click open beneath the water and he gasped. He hated the feeling when someone spoke above the water. Someone spoke his name, had his mother followed him? She shouldn't have. She needed to rest. The said someone knelt beside him and rubbed his shoulder blades.

 _Cordelia_. He realized. _It was Cordelia._

He did not know why it surprised him, perhaps because he had pushed her away too long to even think how it would feel to be comforted by her again.

His sister pushed back his sweat soaked hair and lingered a light kiss on his forehead. "It's alright _dadash_ , it will be fine, okay? Just breathe with me."

Alastair buried his head in Cordelia's neck. She let out a surprised sound but hugged him back tightly.

"I don't know what happened Alastair _dadash_ ," Cordelia ran a hand through his hair and he let himself relax a little. "But you can tell me. I am here and I will not leave you, okay?"

Alastair let himself hope, knowing full well hope is a dangerous thing. That he would be the one paying the price for it in the end. But he hoped.

**FOUR.**

Whatever Alastair had truly expected, it had nothing to do with Thomas writing him a letter, it was far from it really. He had thought Thomas would not want to talk to him. His heart thumped with anticipation as he opened the seal. He was so, oh so, excited to read the letter. What if Thomas finally decided to forgive him? Alastair pushed the hope down and took a deep breath.

Whatever was in the letter, whether forgiveness or some random death threats, he would not let himself turn around the roads of his healing. He was not going to beg for forgiveness. If Thomas chose not to forgive him, so be it. But Alastair had enough self respect to not let himself be stripped of his little dignity. He wouldn't let it happen even in his wildest dreams. His hand brushed against his name on the envelope. Somehow, Thomas' penmanship made his name look enchanting, inviting. Something he had never associated with himself.

He took another deep breath and told himself to just get it over with.

He started reading, _We have not spoken in many weeks, presumably as a result of the unfortunate circumstances under which we last met. Nevertheless, I write this evening to extend my wishes for your family’s continued health and good fortune._

He already feels the dread tighten in his abdomen, especially since that first line. But rather than feeling upset, he's angry. Thomas wrote this carefully and Alastair wondered how many drafts it took.

His heart leapt in his throat as he read the last paragraph. Did Thomas really expect him to show up at the party after this letter? And moreover, why did Thomas write to him? They were supposed to be ignoring each other. They were supposed to pretend as if nothing was wrong. They were supposed to feel nothing.

Alastair crushed the letter without another thought and tossed it in the bin. He did not need to be reminded about it. He did not need to be told about the unfortunate circumstances, as Thomas had written. He did not need his mistakes to be thrown in his face like that. He did not need—

His vision blurred with a fresh wave of tears. He propped his elbows on the desk and hung his head low. He let out a humorless shaking laugh. How had he actually thought he was getting better? Everytime he was happy with his progress, life threw some more of his past at his face as if he didn't know them already.

He staggered to the sink in the bathroom and splashed water on his face. His breathing was getting labored and it took everything in him to stop groaning and say not again. He was tired of everything. Sometimes he just wanted to die, if that was what would make the pain stop. He would embrace death if it made him stop feeling. He wanted to be numb.

He would certainly die one day because of these episodes if not some other circumstances. But for now, he needed to calm down and write a letter.

Even after hours of writing and contemplating, Thomas' letter went unanswered.

**FIVE.**

Alastair's hands were sweating way too much. He had been standing in front of the Townsend house for approximately twenty five minutes and he was still thinking if he should attend the party. What was the use though? He was utterly late, dinner would be over in the next fifteen minutes, Thomas didn't want to see him, his sister was probably having the time of her life with her fiancé, his mother was probably calm and settled, even Charles must be happy to pretend with Grace. The only one who wasn't happy was Alastair. It shouldn't affect him much. He deserved it. But it didn't make it any easier to accept it. Knowing never did.

But the most worried he was about? Thomas' reaction when he saw him. He didn't want another public humiliation, it was far more than what he deserved. And he would not let him be pitied and shamed like that ever again. Not that it mattered anyway. He didn't have an ounce of reputation left to protect. Surprisingly enough, it didn't matter either.

His thoughts wandered to Thomas unintentionally again. He really did not want to see Thomas but he didn't want to give him the satisfaction that he had successfully managed to do what he wanted. It was his damned pride that made him want to go, even though his breathing got heavy. He leaned against the wall and let out a deep breath, a white cloud of fog hitting his nose. Shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat, he closed his eyes. He could hear the yells and laughter from the house. It only worsened his mood.

He wondered what made him do all that, what made him hold onto nothing. He had nothing, no one, he was alone in this cruel world.

As if to show he was right, it started raining. The damp weather did nothing but made him more upset. He bit his lip hard to stop himself from crying out. He barely felt the hard concrete wall digging in his back as he breathed in the scent of rain. Well, he didn't exactly breathe in. He needed to calm down, panicking even more would only worsen the already bad situation. He had no intentions of dying because he couldn't get air into his damned lungs.

Call it stubbornness, but he refused to be made fun of. Just like he had refused during the academy. He would survive and he would let the whole world know that.

He jutted his chin out and told himself: _Just take a few minutes and then you go inside like you own it, because you do not give a damn about what people think about you._

It was a promise that he could at least keep.

**PLUS ONE.**

Why did the universe hate him so much? He wondered yet again as he opened the door and was met with the nervous face of Thomas Gideon Lightwood. He forced his face into an indifferent expression even though his insides were screaming and crossed his arms over his chest protectively.

"Cordelia is inside, if you want, you can wait in the parlor for her." He said dryly, dismissing Thomas entirely.

Thomas had the audacity to blush. "Actually, I—uh, wanted to see you."

Alastair raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "You wanted to see me." He repeated.

"Uh, yes, yes I did."

Alastair considered shutting the door in Thomas' face. Things were already bad between them, what could Thomas particularly want from him to see him out? At the end, his curiosity bested him. He stepped aside and let Thomas in. Thomas shot him a surprised look. By the Angel, if Thomas did not stop with those expressions, Alastair would actually throw him out and avoid the possibility of a civil conversation. As soon as they were in the parlor, Alastair leaned against the wall and gestured for Thomas to sit and say whatever he wanted to say. He seriously wanted Thomas to be done with it as soon as possible. He couldn't fathom another reminder.

"If you're just here to insult me, I assure, you need not waste your precious time." He grumbled, his stomach forming tight knots of worse possibilities.

Thomas furrowed his eyebrows. "Why would you assume I am……" He trailed off uncomfortably and Alastair felt a strange sort of victory.

At least Thomas knew he had no right to come here and justify himself. And yes, it didn't matter, but it felt nice to have some sort of a hold over the situation. Even though he knew it would still go against him.

"I am just here to invite you to the picnic we are having again. Cordelia must have told you about it. It did not go well last time as you know." said Thomas, his eyes growing dark with every sentence. Alastair knew Thomas was thinking about his sister Barbara and Alastair felt guilty. But never mind that. Thomas did not need to come here just to tell him that.

Alastair could feel his panic setting in, "That's it?"

"What do you mean?" asked Thomas, he looked confused, frowning.

"Surely you did not come here just to tell me about a picnic." replied Alastair, "You must have more important things to worry about."

Though he was glad Thomas made time to see Alastair, he did not wish to be sympathized. He did not wish to feel weak ever again.

"I uh, actually came here just to tell you that."

It was as if a thick layer of fog settled over him. He didn't know why it mattered, it shouldn't. And yet it did. It mattered so much to him. He had been holding himself together just fine but seeing Thomas, having him admit that he had no reason to come, broke something inside him. That single string that held all the pieces together broke. He was choking. And he didn't know how to stop it.

Angel, it would be so bad if Cordelia walked in. She had already seen him once during a breakdown, he did not need her to see it again. And Thomas of all people was witnessing it. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands against his ears. He didn't want to hear this. He didn't want to listen to anything. He wanted everything to quieten down. He felt someone taking his hands in their own. Was Cordelia here again? Did she ask Thomas to leave? It would be good if she did.

"Hey, It's alright." Thomas said, who was apparently still there and Cordelia was not. "You're going to be alright."

How the hell did he know that? Alastair felt a lump in his throat and to his horror, he realized he was crying. Thomas squeezed his hands tightly and kept muttering soothing words. Alastair wanted Thomas to leave him alone. He had no right to comfort him after everything he had said. They had had nothing to do with each other. But he realized Thomas' presence helped him. He didn't know why, or how, it just did. And on top of everything, he still couldn't breathe, why couldn't he breathe? Hadn't he had enough of these things? Hadn't he been hurt enough? Wasn't being alone forever the price enough?

And yet he was not alone. He had something most people tended to run away from. Loneliness. It was his best friend, his worst enemy, his soulmate, his nemesis, his lover, his _everything_. No matter how much he tried to push it away, he had loneliness. And somewhere between now and then, he had accepted it.

He might not have Thomas the way he used to, he had something he knew would never leave him alone. But it wasn't equivalent to Thomas. It never would.

Even when his heart rate became normal again, his mind only rang one name and he despised it:

_Thomas. Thomas. Thomas._

**Author's Note:**

> Well, if you managed to read it this far, seriously thank you. This is honestly me projecting my panic attacks in Alastair please do not mind me. And Alastair is a Jane Austen fan, no I don't take constructive criticism.  
> 


End file.
